Reins of Courage

On that beautiful sunny morning, I spoke quietly into the ear of my golden stallion, Monarch.

“You have to run swift, like the wind. Today you and I must not fail. We must save a good man.”
I fed him a sugar cube to seal the deal.
Then I strolled over the sweet grass of our land to speak with my girlfriends. I was trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach.

Tara Layton was talking about boys. A purebred with long thick platinum hair and sapphire eyes; she was lovely.  When she could get away with it, she would unbutton her dress to show off the ovals of her breasts. It was enough to make most men stumble over their words. It was amusing to watch.  We had grown up together and while I enjoyed skipping stones, riding horses and fishing, she loved dolls and playing grownup. Her goal in life was to be a spoiled wife of a wealthy Southern gentleman.

Now she reached out to hug me and then adjusted the bow on my new bonnet.

"Evelyn, you look lovely. Scarlet is your color.  Andrew Ridgely can't keep his eyes off you."

"Tara, you know when you are around, the rest of us don't have a chance."

Suzanne Taylor, a shy slender redhead with a large nose, cleared her throat.
"Between the two of you, I will never find a beau."

I put my arm around her waist.
"Honey, there's plenty of silly men to go around."

Today, the people of my hometown, Talking Rock, Georgia were celebrating.  They had picnic baskets with fried chicken, potato salad, fried okra, corn on the cob and plenty of sweetened ice tea. There was a huge pig on the spit that one of the darkies was coating with a special Bar-B-Cue and whiskey sauce. 

There were bottles of homemade moonshine that would give a man a good buzz and strong enough to chew the lining of a stomach away.

It’s sad that the sweetness of the tea didn’t subdue these mean spirited onlookers. Town people had brought their house servants along to serve them.  Black faces were openly sad with sweat glistening under a blazing Georgia sun. Plantation owners from all over Georgia had brought their slaves to teach them a valuable lesson about proper behavior.

Our house was surrounded by giant oaks, pecans, pines and magnolias. It was a beautiful Georgian style with large columns and a surrounding porch. The wide hallways ran from front to back with two stairways. There were four large rooms on each floor and floor to ceiling windows. It was built so the breezes blew through the large double screen doors on the front and back through the wide halls.

The eight rooms in the house had fireplaces. There were four chimneys. So the house was cool in the summer and warm in the winter.  The kitchen was a separate building along with many other outer buildings. The furniture was heavy ornate antiques. Just cleaning one of the wool rugs took three servants to carry it outside and beat it with "rug beaters".

My Mother, Pamela Livingston, came from a wealthy tobacco family that enabled my Pa, Joseph Lawson Whitley to expand his own land, slaves, and crops. Her parents weren't that happy about the union but my mother was not attractive and as a beau, my Pa was as fine as she would get at the "old maid" age of twenty-seven. She was her parents only child.

I was their first child. Pa was disappointed in the gender but Joseph Jr. followed within a year. Then along came Suzanne, Baylor, and Lindsey.  In addition to children, Pa expanded his property of house servants. There were five, one was a full time cook, a housekeeper, Ma's personal servant (brought from her parents) and two groomsmen.

I didn't count my own mammy, Mariah. She shouldn’t be counted as anyone's property because she had done her time.  Her face told of her hard life as a slave.  Every line was earned from worry, pain and then there were the scars from beatings.  As a midwife, she even delivered my own father's children by other slaves. She nourished me and my brothers and sisters from her breasts. I never knew a more loving woman. I had watched her own children torn from her when they were old enough to work at a trade. She knew my mother had let her children stay around her until then but the pain of separation was heartbreaking. The children would cry but Mariah was stoic and quiet.

Today as Mariah worked, she would occasionally look up at the scaffolding.  Her tears slipped silently into her mouth after traveling the rugged terrain of her face. I looked away, not able to face it.
She sang softly, like an angel.

“Lord, help me carry this heavy load.
Just a little longer till you carry me home.
No more suffering and pain.”

Pa lashed out at her.
“Shut up or I’ll give you suffering. Just serve the food.”
When Pa said that so hatefully, I knew I was doing the right thing. He was a mean man no matter what he felt was right.

What was my father’s reason to bring a loyal servant to watch her son die a horrible death?  How could this be the same man who listened to my prayers and kissed me good night? Yet I knew if I dared to question my father's behavior toward our servants, I would be punished.

We attend church every Sunday to learn of God's love and how darkies must be treated strictly to teach them and save their souls. Bile rose in my mouth as I watched today's horror unfold.  I had to repair this because it was my fault.

Mariah’s son, Ephraim was cleaning the stalls in the barn and I was talking with him. We had played together as children. It wasn’t unusual for slave children to play with their master’s children at a young age. Then one day you are told it is no longer allowed. Sometimes it was when they were sold away at the auction block. Ephraim had been kept at home because he was a wonder with our horses; shoeing, training and birthing them.

Ephraim and I were talking, standing about four feet apart. He was leaning on the rake and we had not touched each other.
"I hear you and Sadie are going to jump the broom. Have you been bitten by the love bug, my old friend?"

"Evie, don't give me a hard time now. We shouldn't be talkin' like this. You're my boss now."

"Oh, my friend, I don't know anything about horses. You are a master at it! I just want to know if she makes my friend happy?"

I made the mistake of reaching out and pinching his cheek playfully.
"She does. I love her."

"I am so happy for you. Let me buy her a wedding dress."

"She would be blessed. Have you found someone? I want you to feel this wonderful."

"Thanks for being my friend. Maybe someday."

That is when Jason Fields, the man my Pa hoped would ask for my hand, walked in. 
I don't know how much he had heard. Probably enough to make him jealous of the teasing tone of my voice to my old playmate.

Jason began to blame me for talking alone with a slave.
"What is wrong with you, Miss Evelyn? You know better then be all by yourself with this n*g"a boy. He could rape you!"
There was an overpowering smell of liquor from his mouth and clothes. I slapped him across the face. Then he shoved me in the hay.

Ephraim pulled him off me and in a fit of rage; he hit Jason in the jaw. Jason grabbed a pitchfork and went after him.
In our world, a black slave never talks back, much less strikes a white man. It was like the start of the Civil War.  I threw myself between the two men.

Then I heard Pa’s voice, “What the hell is going on?”

I started to tell the truth but Jason jumped in yelling, “I caught Ephraim trying to rape your daughter so I went after him. Sir, I was defending your daughter’s honor.”

My dress was up around my waist and my pantaloons were ripped from a nail in the process of trying to stop the fight. I realized a rape looked possible.

"Pa, I slapped Jason for not respecting me. Then he came after me. Ephraim was just trying to protect me."

Pa looked at me with eyes of stone. "I will handle this. You go to the house...don't speak to anyone. Clean up like the lady you are."

"But....Pa! Please listen to the truth."

"You heard me, young lady. This is men's business."

Pa didn’t pay attention to my cries of protest. He looked at Ephraim and asked, “Is Master Fields lying, boy?”

There was no way out now. My dear playmate hung his head and said nothing.

Pa was foaming with anger.
“Did you hear me, boy?  Did you try to take advantage of my daughter?”

Ephraim looked up with large honest brown eyes, “I would never hurt Miss Evelyn.”

Pa called out for a couple of field hands. The four of them chained Ephraim's ankles so tightly blood ran freely over his feet. They locked him in a stall.

My Pa has known Ephraim his whole life. Pa knows he is a loyal Christian boy, my friend that would die for me and something that meant even more; a valuable crafts worker. That is property Pa could sell at a high price.
Instead he chooses to believe Jason, a man he hardly knows, a drinker and gambler over his own daughter and Ephraim. This is the Southern code. If any slave woman was asked to spread her legs for the Master, she does. Jason is a white man, a son of slave owners with a plantation and a man deemed worthy to marry his daughter.

So, on this lovely day, a death party celebrates the fact the white man is ruler. He is ruler and king over his land, women, children, slaves and part of the government that makes the laws. There are thirty families present cheering for blood. Ephraim would be hung for something he did not do.

A photographer was taking professional pictures for the paper and souvenirs. Five black slaves were to be hung. The crimes ranged from stealing chickens to running away. One slave had even shot the white Overseer that was raping the Master’s daughter.  It didn’t have to make sense.

It was time.  They were about to place the ropes over the guilty heads. These poor men and boys looked resigned yet frightened. Death had to be better than this hard life and their awful fate now. Most slaves believed in a benevolent God and Heaven where they would be in Paradise with their friends and relatives that had gone on before, usually from a violent or painful death. Not many blacks lived past the age of forty.

It was my time to shine. I sent up a fervent prayer and ran as fast as I could. I jumped on Monarch and he flew in the direction of the scaffolding.  I stopped long enough for Ephraim to jump on the horse. The crowd could be heard screaming.

We rode as if Thor, the Thunder God, held the reins of Monarch.  No one fired a shot. I believe they were stunned by my actions and afraid the bullet might strike me.

I heard Pa’s voice, “God will punish you for this, Evelyn.”

I got Ephraim to a row of shanty houses where free blacks lived. Ephraim got down. We didn’t know how long he had but it was a chance at a miracle now.

He simply said, “Thank you, Evie, you will always be in my prayers.”

I wished him luck and I rode toward Aunt Betsy’s house in Decatur. I wouldn’t ever return home.
I heard that Ephraim had vanished. The rumor was spread that it was a “voodoo spell”. White men didn’t mess with that powerful mixture.

All my life, I would never feel as courageous as I did on that day.  I was on the side of the angels.

Soon I joined the Underground Railroad in Boston.  I was in the business of giving people new identities, a chance for life with choices and without fear. There I met my future spouse, Dr. Joseph Hardy. He was a physician that helped injured slaves that made it over state lines into the North.

Our two daughters, Lucinda and Lucy, became educators that taught about their parents and how freedom was bought with white and black blood that flowed the same color. Our grandchildren marched in the footsteps of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and became lawyers and social workers working pro bono.

I am proud to say I will leave this world a legacy of strong men and women who fought for causes that were morally right.

By Kathie Stehr